Keepsakes
by infy
Summary: He'd walk in with scrapes and bruises, winded from running away, but that violin safe in his arms, without a scratch on it.


"Why do you always play that pussy violin?"

"Loser!"

They pushed him down, but he kept the violin cradled in his arms, ensuring its safety. "M-my..." he stammered, shutting his eyes tightly, fighting away the tears. Boys don't cry, Brady. He attempted to walk away, keeping the violin tucked away safely against him. The boys called out horrible names, but Brady had learned to keep them at arm's length. He'd been bullied since he could walk-at this point, he'd grown accustomed to the name-calling, no matter how much it hurt. He'd kept his mother in his memory, and he had her to thank for his strength and resilience. She'd tell him never to fight back-that wasn't the noble thing to do. "Ma said..."

He'd be noble for Ma.

He'd walk in with scrapes and bruises, winded from running away, but that violin safe in his arms, without a scratch on it. Lon'qu had noticed him day in and day out, and he'd never thought to ask him what in the world was going on, mostly because Brady had shut him out. It hurt. Probably more than anything Lon'qu had felt, any piercing wound he'd been given, it hurt. But Lon'qu had grown accustomed to it, as sad and horrible as it was. But that day, when Brady came in cradling that violin in immaculate condition as usual, but his cheek was swollen, dried blood caked onto his face from a bloody nose, Lon'qu felt the need to step in.

"Brady." He muttered, as his son placed the violin in its case, as neatly as possible.

"Hey, Pop." Brady sniffed, and pushed past Lon'qu to get a wet cloth, ensuring that he couldn't see his face. Lon'qu narrowed his eyes, grabbing the boy by the wrist before he could move past him. "Let go, please," the boy paused in his tracks, not even attempting to tug away from him. Lon'qu took another breath, kneeling down to look him in the eye.

"Brady, you've got a nosebleed."

"I know. I'm fixing it."

The words came so nonchalantly, as if Lon'qu wasn't worth a second glance. Regardless, he held his son in place, taking a deep breath and speaking to him clearly, in a firm whisper. "I know you've been picked on. And I know it all centers around that violin. But the blood and the swelling... that's new." Brady averted his eyes away from Lon'qu's, as if he were ashamed. "What happened today?"

"I fought back." Brady murmured, quietly, almost exceedingly so. "Kid threw a left and tried to grab my violin. So I knocked him in the gut with my knee and ran."

"Brady..." His father's grip tightened around his shoulders as he held him in place. They'd come back for him. He knew how schoolyard bullies worked. They'd always come back when their pride was damaged. "You don't need to be alone."

"I ain't alone," Brady murmured, his voice breaking. "I have my violin. That's all I need, Pop. Please... just leave me be." He wriggled away out of Lon'qu's grip, and along with the sound of the door shutting behind his son as he turned to go, and the wistful sound of a violin, the myrmidon heard the sound of both his and his son's hearts breaking in half.

As he walked outside the next day, Brady ensured the violin was in its case-he knew he'd be followed today of all days. And surely enough, the gang of boys were crowding around him, backing him into a corner. One boy pushed him into another one, and he yelped as he fell backward into the hands of another boy who pushed him forward. And once they had him encircled, the boy he had kneed yesterday stepped forward with a menacing scowl. "Bitch was lookin' for a fight yesterday, huh?" He snarled, seizing Brady by the collar. "Get the pussy violin." He grinned wickedly as he gave the order, and another boy pried it from his fingers before Brady had any time to protest.

The boy opened the case and took it out, jostling it around by the neck like a game bird. He strummed a couple strings. "I could get used to this..." the boy chuckled, before plucking a string too hard, snapping it. Brady winced, shrinking, knowing what was coming.

"Aw, man, you busted it." One boy remarked, and the boy with the violin laughed.

"Looks like it's a piece of shit now, huh. Better toss it." And with that, the boy threw the violin behind him, and Brady heard a snap as he saw his most prized possession in pieces on the ground.

A chorus of laughter, but the sound seemed so tinny and hollow and far away to Brady. A fire ignited in his belly, and with a scream of sheer rage, he managed to fight his way free from the leader's grip, leaping onto him and mercilessly tearing into him with kicks and punches-it didn't last long. Two more boys came from the sidelines, grabbing both arms and pinning Brady down, and no matter how much he kicked and screamed and hollered about how he was going to kill them, he couldn't manage to break free. The boy he had assaulted snarled in rage and loomed over him like a shadow; reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a knife. Brady's eyes widened in horror. "N-no...!" He stammered, trying desperately to break free from the boys who held him down.

"I'm gonna cut out your eyes, you little shit!" The leader spat, kicking him in the side. A chorus of boys yelled out support, screaming from the sidelines like banshees; the sounds all muddled together for Brady. All he saw was the blade looming towards him-and soon, a rush of blood over his left eye and a horrendous searing pain. He screamed, kicked his legs, thrashed with all his might to try and get free. The taste of blood from it running off down his face and into his mouth nauseated him-even through the pain, through the tears he promised himself he wouldn't shed, he thrashed and kicked and screamed.

Suddenly a low, booming voice, one that he'd heard before, but never this menacing, sounded through the air. "Hey! Get away from him!"

As quickly as they swarmed him, Brady saw through one eye the boys quickly scattering, and he managed to regain control of himself for long enough to press his hands against his eye. Blood poured from his face, soaking his hands, soaking his clothes, and he couldn't do much else other than crawl towards the splintered carcass of his violin, curl around it and sob.

The source of the voice hovered over him for a brief moment before gathering Brady tightly in its arms. The smell and touch of him, Brady recognized right away. "P-Pop..." he stammered through his heaving sobs, reaching for the broken neck of the violin. "Ma! She's gone...! Gods, she's gone...!" he wailed, and Lon'qu didn't let him go until he had cried himself out, until the loss of blood mixed with the stress of the attack put him to sleep. _Ma..._ he knew he had recognized that violin. It was Maribelle's prized possession-the one thing Brady had left of her, the one thing he treasured most. And he wasn't there to protect either of them. As he walked back home with his son in his arms, Lon'qu's voice broke from so many times apologizing to his boy. Nothing could redeem his father for this. He had let yet another person he loved down again, and it was all he could do as he lay him in bed, as he dressed his wounds, as he waited for him to come around, not to break down and cry.

Brady came to the next morning unwilling to speak to anyone. Owain and Yarne both came by to say hello and offer their well-wishes, but Brady wanted nothing to do with either of them. The first time that he spoke that day was when Lon'qu came in with a newly strung bow and the violin that he had slaved over hours individually piecing back together. The sight of his good eye lighting up as he heard Lon'qu drag the bow over the strings, and as he heard it sound just like new again, nearly brought Lon'qu to tears again, and Brady threw his arms around his father for the first time since Maribelle's passing. And for the first time since, he said, "I love you, Pop."

And for the first time, Lon'qu said it back.


End file.
